


Hylian Reverie

by divinince



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinince/pseuds/divinince
Summary: The stories of a Hylian Reverie (or lack thereof), in which Zelda (clandestine dreamer and soon-to-be Queen of Hyrule) yearns to fulfill the destiny Hylia has written for her, while Link (Ordonian ranch-hand and retired Hero of Twilight) wants no part of his bloodline's fate. The pair attempts to find balance in post-war Hyrule.





	1. Chapter 1

Hyrule rebuilt the castle itself.

Not literally, of course, but even Zelda (who deeply felt and understood her subjects’ compassion) was stunned by the generosity of the people of Hyrule, many of whom she knew to lead fairly modest lives. Donations of money, material, and labor flowed from every corner of the kingdom: even a kind yeti on Snowpeak sent a barely-legible letter offering the princess all of the assistance he and his wife could possibly provide. Though charmed, Zelda declined the offer. _Two yetis_ , she wrote, _would feel dreadful away from the cool mountain air._

Whenever Zelda spoke of the new castle, her citizens roared with pride. Nearly identical to its predecessor, the new castle radiated a sense of Hyrulian camaraderie -- a sense of camaraderie previously unknown.

Zelda’s coronation was long overdue, yet she refused to wear any other title until Hyrule had completely recovered. Her father, bless him, perished in the mere days before the invasion of the Twilight, and in the midst of a war, no time existed for his successor to be crowned. Zelda had ruled as the Princess Regent since and refused any other title: her people, she reasoned, did not deserve a monarch only in title and in face.

In private prayers, however, she felt Hylia push her to take her role, her title, her crown, and wear them with conviction. Though she could deny herself, she could not deny her ancestor.

“Your Highness,” piped Aren, Zelda’s childhood nanny and her most trusted advisor, during the final days of construction, not long after Zelda had first expressed her concern, “the council lost the previous plans in the war. They lost… well, they lost everything, really. Perhaps your people need time to grow accustomed with all the change after the war.”

Zelda, for the first time in months, did not flinch at the mention of the war. She looked past Aren to the men assembling the final room, the throne room full of towering stones and intricate carvings. Her eyes focused on one man, an Ordonian swordsman and, apparently, mason. Lowering her gaze, she spoke frankly.

“More importantly, my people need a ruler to ensure their safety.” With a pause, she sighed. “Though the council halted their coronation plans after the war started, I find it necessary that we do not withhold the event any longer.”

“Always a headstrong one,” Aren remarked with a kind smile. “I’ll make it so, Your Highness.” With a curtsy, Aren left to find Zelda’s council, muttering something about a child queen as she hobbled away.

Zelda avoided the obvious notion that, at age nineteen, she could no longer be described as a child. Not only had she passed into adulthood, but she had seen the world crumble in the process. She had sacrificed and regained her losses. She had been a healer, a puppet, and Hyrule’s servant throughout her suffering.

In her mind, she could no longer be a child. No child wore her burden and survived so easily.

That evening, the council announced that the coronation would occur exactly one week after the quickly-approaching completion of the castle. At dinner, various members of her staff came and went in a flurry, hastily bowing before Zelda before asking her what time of day she wanted to be coronated, what kind of flowers she wanted, and, perhaps most superficial of them all, who she wanted on the guest list.

Perhaps it was not the question that was superficial but the conversation that followed. Aren, tearing off a piece of her bread and dipping it into her soup, smirked.

“Oh, put that handsome young king from that kingdom down south on the list,” she said, and a royal advisor nodded and scrawled the name on a rather empty page. “I can’t remember his name for the life of me, but we surely want to be on his radar.” She winked at Zelda, who turned away with a bleak look. The conversation always seemed to turn to the prospect of marriages and alliances and slimy kings.

A young maid came into the room, curtsying before placing a plate of fish before the princess. “King Rego, Lady Aren?” she inquired, to which Aren nodded. “He got married last spring, ma’am.”

“How do you know?” spat Aren with narrowed eyes, not taking kindly to being corrected by a mere maid. Zelda, with pursed lips, raised a hand to her advisor, hereby silencing the woman before she could further abuse the maid.

The maid, hardly wounded by Aren’s words, slid the advisor her own plate of fish (a fish slightly more charred and less presentable than the princess’) and smiled knowingly.

“My sister is one of his mistresses.”

With one last curtsy to the princess (and a slight smirk towards Lady Aren), the maid exited the room. Aren grimaced, cursed the maid for being uppity, and finally turned to Zelda as though nothing had happened.

Zelda knew that the next question out of her mouth would be about marriage. The very day she turned thirteen, heads of state from many kingdoms requested her hand in marriage, sending everything from heartfelt letters to lavish jewelry to foreign delicacies in order to win her heart. The king ( _may he rest in peace_ , she considered as he crossed her mind) made it very clear to each suitor that the decision was Zelda’s and Zelda’s alone. Zelda appreciated the independence; however, she had no interest in getting married. Such matters seemed trivial -- now more than ever.

“Princess,” Aren said, leaning too far into the girl’s title for comfort. Zelda looked at her with an ineffective warning glance and focused her attention on taking a sip of wine. “What about that hero of yours? You’ve hardly spoken of him, which is odd, seeing as he saved your life and kingdom.”

Zelda coughed on the wine stuck in her throat and paled. She had made little conversation about Link with anyone in the castle, knowing that mention of him would prompt unwanted questions. Why don’t you knight him? Why aren’t we honoring him? Are you going to marry him?

“The hero,” said Zelda, voice quivering slightly, “has no interest in marrying me, and I have no intent to marry him. We hardly even know each other, and he made the decision to return to his roots. He and I lead completely different lives, and that is okay.”

Zelda would never admit to her nurse that she had thought about the possibility once, twice, or maybe a handful of times. She figured it to be less the result of romantic feelings and more an infatuation with her idyllic, ancestral history. Many of the Princess Zeldas before her had their heroes, and Zelda liked to imagine that Link was her equivalent of Hylia’s Chosen Hero. He would storm the castle, green tunic and all, and sweep her off her feet, even if just for a fleeting moment.

Zelda doubted that Link could even carry her, but if he could, she knew he had bigger ambitions than to be the Chosen One. He returned to his village quietly, without a grand procession or any sort of fanfare to identify him, and Zelda figured he had no real desire to be hero in the first place.

As dearly as she wanted to fulfill the stories that flowed in her blood, she couldn’t fault him for wanting peace.

“Why don’t you invite him to the coronation, at the very least?” suggested Aren, taking a bite out of her charred fish and grimacing at the taste. “You owe that much to him.”

“As the princess, I don’t much owe anyone anything,” she retorted in a jocular tone, enticing a laugh from Aren before speaking again, “but I owe him my life and would be honored to have him.”

She wasn’t lying when she said that, and she brought her wine glass up to her lips in order to hide her growing smile. She reasoned that, at the very least, it would be nice to see him again and know he was both real and well.

“I’ll make it happen, Your Highness,” Aren assured with a wink. “Give me his location and I will send your best men to present his invitation.”

Zelda sputtered. “Actually...” She cleared her throat. “I’ll deliver the invitation personally. It’s the least I could do after all he’s done for m… for Hyrule.”

Though Zelda hoped that she had hidden her enthusiasm well, Aren’s smirk revealed that she could sense the excitement. Zelda could hardly deny that she missed the boy -- the  _young man_ , pardon -- and desired to give the hero the welcome he deserved. She wasn’t even sure she had ever properly thanked him.

“You’re hiding something, Princess,” chirped Aren, “but I like it when you’re mysterious.” She finished off her glass of wine and motioned for a servant to bring her more. “What’s so special about this hero that he gets an invitation _hand-delivered_ by the princess?” She leaned forward, inspecting Zelda’s outward appearance, then chortled softly. “Don’t tell me it’s something  _shameful_? Oh, no, don’t say it!” She feigned losing consciousness. “He’s an Ordonian farmboy, isn’t he?”

“L-lady Aren, that is highly inappropriate!”

After that meal, neither Aren nor Zelda mentioned the hero (despite however much Zelda yearned to say even the slightest thing about the man who fulfilled her generation of the prophecy). The staff of the castle was too busy making arrangements for the coronation to consider anything so trivial; however, while the royal tailor was pinning silk to fit Zelda’s form, Aren handed her an envelope with the royal seal and said, barely above a whisper:

“Take it to your Ordonian hero.”


	2. Chapter 2

Had Zelda blinked, she would’ve missed the quaint community of just off of Ordona’s spring, the area that was not quite Hyrulian yet belonged nowhere else.

The village of Ordon felt empty, the heavy autumn rain preventing children or artisans from venturing outside. Zelda’s stallion whined as she forced it through the well-worn dirt path, discontent with the mud gathering around its hooves, but she tightened her grip on the reins and leaned closer to the horse’s ear, urging her to carry on. Not much longer, my dear. It’s not too bad out here, so please keep going.

Before making the journey to Ordon, Zelda stopped to ask Rusl, who had come to the Castle Town in order to help reconstruct the castle, where she might find Link upon her arrival. He answered almost immediately with the local goat farm, noting that Link had been eager to return to his roots after saving Hyrule.

Zelda thanked the swordsmith and started out of the throne room. Rusl looked up towards the half-complete ceiling and hummed in contemplation.

“Your Highness,” he said, Ordonian drawl still evident despite his lengthy stay in Castle Town, “it looks like a storm is comin’. I can take the letter, if you would prefer--”

“Thank you, but I can do it,” she chirped, turning to face him and brushing brunette hair behind her ear. “I think I need to speak with him personally. It’s been a while.” A year and a half, to be exact. Both had been mum for quite some time, and she felt communication was long overdue.

“Of course, Princess. I’m sorry.” Rusl paused, distant look lining his features. He and Zelda stared at one another, holding words that yearned to be said but lacking the capacity to say them. Nodding once, Zelda began to turn again.

“One more thing, milady!”

Zelda stopped with her back to the swordsmith, fearing what he might have to say. She had no clue what to expect, so she tensed her shoulders and prepared for the absolute worst.

Rusl sighed. “When you see him again, he may not be the Link you remember. I hope that doesn’t deter you.”

“Do you think he’ll want to see me?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Any reasonable person would be honored to be in your presence, and Link is as reasonable as they come.”

When the two finally parted ways, Rusl appeared distraught, and Zelda began to question his jaded truth.

As Zelda’s stallion walked towards the goat farm, she considered whether or not Link would be working in such weather. She hadn’t asked Rusl where else she might find him, but Rusl seemed quite convinced that Link would be with the goats.

Her worries were alleviated when she found the gates of the farm wide open, revealing the life of the Hero of Twilight.

Link knelt beside a goat, bandaging the poor creature’s leg as blood dripped into the mud below him. He worked quickly, fingers visibly delicate and nimble through the pouring rain. He paid no mind to the rain soaking through his clothes, wearing only a hat to shield him from the weather. Beside him, Epona munched on the grass at her feet and, upon catching sight of Zelda, whinnied sweetly.

Link looked up with little interest, assuming his horse to be distraught by the weather, and audibly gasped upon seeing the princess approach him. He hurried to tie off the bandage on the goat’s leg and rose to full height, only to take a knee before the princess a second later. Zelda could not stop the grin forming on her face as she drew closer to him.

“Link,” she said, pulling the reins of her horse and quickly dismounting. Once acknowledged, he stood to full height (Zelda couldn’t help but notice that he was still shorter than her, even after all the time that had passed) and stared straight at her, his blue eyes wearing a mixture of unsettled and incredulous. Not the reaction she was hoping to receive, Zelda cleared her throat and extended a hand. She knew people of the lower echelon often shook hands as a form of greeting and wished to make the situation more familiar for the boy.

Cautiously, Link accepted the handshake; surprised by the firmness of his grip, Zelda gasped softly and attempted to hide her surprise with a small laugh.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” she inquired, and she found herself unnerved when he replied with nothing more than a half-hearted shrug. The part of her raised in royalty wanted to demand at least an ounce of acknowledgment, yet she shoved such a curt thought to the back of her mind. She knew that he would speak when he was ready: he oftentimes had someone to speak for him and understandably struggled while on his own.

(As she considered their previous meetings on her ride home, she realized that she had never once heard his voice before.)

After a suffocating pause, the princess spoke up once again. “Standing in the rain is useless, don’t you think?” Even her attempt at humor didn’t rouse him, and she shifted her weight between her feet. “How about we take shelter in the… er, stable?” Though a building that housed livestock didn’t seem appealing to her at the worst of times, anything was better than staying in the cold rain.

Link nodded, surveying the area before motioning her to the stables. She took her horse’s reins and led it to shelter; Link followed suit, ten steps behind and an eternity away from Zelda.

Once in the stable, Zelda removed the hood of her cloak. Meanwhile, Link took too much time tying Epona to a post and motioned towards Zelda’s steed, offering to do the same. Zelda, too mesmerized by his quick fingers and careful handiwork, missed the question but accepted nonetheless. Afterwards, Link looked at her with a steely glance and sighed.

“Princess Zelda,” he said, quiet yet firm in a voice that seemed rusty, almost unused, “if you’re here for the Hero of Twilight, you’ll have to look somewhere else. I’m… that’s not me anymore, Your Highness.”

Zelda’s heart dropped at his words, at his resignation, at his respect. Though she expected him to be dignified in her presence, there were generations of history between their meeting, a history which she had dreamed of time and time again. He had saved her life and her kingdom, and she had saved the Twilight Princess, yet the cold air between them seemed resonant of that of strangers.

Could it be that, in Link’s eyes, they were nothing more than princess and subject? After the war they had lived through and fought together, she wanted to be offended by the unrequited familiarity. In her heart, however, she recognized that their interaction had been limited during the battle, and he owed her nothing.

Perhaps she was too entranced by the histories of her childhood to accept that history rarely repeated itself.

Nonetheless, she swallowed her pride and dejection and removed her gloves, sliding a hand into the satchel on her hip. “I didn’t come to find a hero, Link. I came to invite you to my coronation.” She extended her arm and watched with bated breath as the young hero stared blankly at the envelope and the ivory hand that held it. Then, he sighed, locked eyes with the princess, and slowly shook his head.

Zelda fought to speak. She wanted to fight against his denial and insist that she could force him to attend _if she so desired_ , but she just looked at him with crestfallen eyes.

“Why not?”

“I don’t belong at no coronations.” Link muttered and cleared his throat. “Sorry, any coronations.” He turned his attention to Epona and brushed her mane with his fingers, growing small against the princess’ stoic gaze. “I don’t belong in the Castle Town, in any palace, anywhere that ain’t -- _isn’t_ Ordon. I’m real sorry, Princess, but I did what I had to for Hyrule. That’s all.”

“I want to honor you for what you’ve done, Link,” Zelda insisted, voice quivering in the slightest way. She swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to cry. Not in front of Link, and never over such trivial matters as a childhood pipe dream.

“I didn’t do it for honor, Princess.” Link, now with his back to the princess, seemed to share her emotional turmoil. “I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Zelda refused to grasp for the straws of Link’s acceptance any longer, so she simply nodded and reached to untie her horse. Link turned swiftly and started on the knot, swatting her hand away ever-so-lightly. She straightened her posture, pulled on her gloves, and put her hood back over her head before placing one foot in a stirrup of her saddle.

As she pushed herself onto the horse’s back, she felt nearly weightless; she then noticed Link’s hands on her hips and stiffened. She wanted to comment on how he shouldn’t have touched the princess without permission, how that would have been seen as odd where she came from, but she knew she didn’t believe that. She knew those were little more than the thoughts hammered into her mind since her youth by royal tutors and advisers.

Link read the question on her face and shrugged. “I didn’t want you to slip, Your Highness,” he reasoned, “what with it being muddy and all.”

In reality, she was honored by the gesture, blessed by the goddesses that her hero possessed the kind soul that he did, even if he was reluctant to wear his title.

“Thank you. May Hylia bless you in your endeavors.” Zelda watched as he knelt once again, head bowed and face unreadable. When he stood, he wished her well and, in the weakest voice she’d ever heard him muster, thanked her for the invitation.

Her horse whined as they returned to the rain, now heavier than before, but neither her horse nor the pounding rain could drown out the slight sob that she swore resonated from the stables.


	3. Chapter 3

Life after defeating Ganondorf entailed a vicious cycle of herding goats and having nightmares.

In between his once-enjoyed work and his once-valued sleep, he would sit in his house and stare out the window until the children coaxed him outside to play swords with fallen tree branches -- no one besides Rusl, Link, and Colin dared touch a real sword anymore. Occasionally, Ilia would knock on his door and ask him and Epona to come to Ordona’s spring with her; oftentimes, even if he said no, she would take Epona anyway and bring the horse back with braids in her mane and a shiny coat.

Link enjoyed it most when Colin came to his house and sat at his side, talking of horses, courage, and his baby sister. He envied the inner peace the boy had worked so hard to achieve.

In the first days after Ganondorf’s demise, Link beamed with pride, reveling in the peace he had so dearly missed. Though life felt emptier without Midna by his side, he knew she was home. Upon returning to Ordon, he felt that same serenity, and sitting in Ordona’s spring at dusk, he vowed that he would never take that from her, no matter how much her absence hurt.

As soon as everything felt secure, the nightmares started. The hands of the shadow beasts roused him from his slumber, pulling him into the wall of Twilight against the Faron Woods. His skin tore and burned as he transformed into his blue-eyed beast, yet without Midna to aid him in attacking the Twilight monsters, they beat him until he howled in pain, blood flowing from innumerable injuries. He never died, instead withstanding the beasts’ abuse until he could no longer stand or howl or put up the slightest fight, making him the perfect meat for a shadow beast meal. When he awoke in a cold sweat, tears streaking his face, he raced from his house and rode Epona deep into the woods, assuring himself that the land was still as light as the day itself.

He returned to Ordon after three days of scouring the deepest corners of the Faron Woods. Ilia hounded him with questions and scolded him for disappearing and causing a scare in the village. Don’t ever do that again. No one knew where you were. What has gotten into you?

“I’m real sorry, Ilia,” Link said weakly, having not slept a wink in the three days he was gone. “I won’t ever do it again, promise.” She wrapped her arm around his gaunt form and lulled him to sleep with her musings. In that second, everything felt secure once again.

The security lasted but a wavering second.

That night, Ilia stayed beside Link’s cot as he slumbered, swearing to keep him safe and at home no matter what. She said he slumbered soundly for the first half of the night, not even uttering a slight snore but admitted that, as the night progressed, he began to twitch erratically, mumbling nonsense under his breath. Ilia could only decipher one word: Twilight.

“How was it for you?” she asked, brushing a lock of hair off of his forehead. He flinched at her touch and shrugged.

Despite a nightmare of being caught in the Twilight, he felt safe in Ilia’s presence, which persisted as the pair began spending nights under each others’ watch.

Nine months after the Battle for Hyrule, Link celebrated his eighteenth birthday with more grandeur than he would have wished; he had asked repeatedly that his birthday be treated just like any other day in Ordon, yet the entire community insisted upon celebrating his transition into adulthood. Most notably, Rusl gave him a sword crafted in the Master Sword’s image and announced his departure to Castle Town in order to help rebuild the castle. Link had to resist handing the sword back and begging the swordsmith to stay behind, because _someone_ needed to protect the village, and Link didn’t know if he could do it anymore.

That evening, after the festivities finally faded, Link met Ilia at his treehouse and kissed her delicately.

She pulled away with wide eyes and crimson cheeks. Link told her he had done that because he loved her -- really, he did it because he thought he needed to, because he had gone eighteen years feeling that it was his destiny to love Ilia. As Ilia grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck, Link resisted writhing in discomfort in exchange for embracing the one person who attempted to sate his emptiness.

Link soon realized that he preferred to love Ilia from a distance: Ilia preferred to love Link with all of her might, and that was when he realized that he wasn’t hers and she wasn’t his.

The months they spent together hardly distracted him from the nightmares, but he dealt. He would take the slightest distractions over restless, fearful nights, even if he still woke up in the middle of the night sobbing until he vomited because Ganondorf had taken his life.

Months later, Link laid his head on her chest one lazy Sunday morning and told her he would always love her, and she laughed, twisted her fingers through his hair, and admitted she’d always loved him. Link sat up and kissed her hard, deep. The world spun, Ilia soon nipping at his neck and collarbones, lowering still, until Link forgot to bite back the royal name curling off his tongue.

He wanted to think Ilia didn’t notice but knew much better, and afterwards, she looked at him with a sad but understanding glance.

“I swear I saw the princess trotting through Ordon last week,” Ilia said with a weak laugh. “When I was helping Father wrap Ordon’s gift to the royal family, this hooded figure passed the house on a beautiful steed, and though I barely saw its face, Zelda… you can’t miss her.” Link wouldn’t look at her, feeling shame for something, nothing, and everything all at once. “Did you see her, Link?”

Locking eyes with the girl, the green beautiful and striking and dangerous through his skin, Link shrugged.

“Did you speak to her?” repeated Ilia. Both of them knew the answer. “What’d she say?”

“She invited me to the coronation, but Ilia,” Link said, “she invited the whole kingdom. I think she just wanted an excuse to make it seem like a fairytale or something.” He scoffed, buckling his belt snugly around his waist. “I’m not gonna do it, Ilia. I _can’t_.”

When Ilia sighed, Link knew she had words that were absolutely, positively right.

“You were personally invited by the _princess_ , Link! Not everyone in Hyrule can say that, and…” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “And I think you should go and serve Her Royal Highness.”

“You don’t gotta be so formal,” he laughed, knowing well that Ilia, much like her father, spoke so formally because she yearned to bring Ordon into the sights of the castle as a place more than just  a poor territory. Perhaps the only reason it was even on the map now was because the Hero Chosen by the Gods -- a title that rolled like venom off of Link’s tongue -- hailed from the village. “It ain’t a big deal, Ilia. I don’t wanna live a life receiving a royal treatment just ‘cause I did the right thing.”

Ilia asked no further questions, instead glaring at Link with a look more lethal than any villain he had fought. How he loved that stare, the fierce eyes of a strong girl, but how he didn’t love the girl, who could never be more than a friend or remedy. He wondered if he had broken her heart; he never, ever wanted to.

“I really think you should go,” she finally said after a sickening pause. “The ceremony is tomorrow, but I’m sure if you leave tonight, you can find somewhere to stay in Castle Town.” She silenced again, deep in thought. “When you see Telma, send her my regards, please?”

“I ain’t going.” The words were both firm and rickety, a combination of a declaration and a question. Ilia sighed, soft smile curling on her lips, and started for the door.

Link ran towards her and held up her coat for her, yet she did not allow him to help her as she had in months before. A single tear welling in her eye, she shook her head with evident dejection. Though she appeared upset, her aura was serene.

“I always knew you didn’t love me,” Ilia muttered as Link opened the door for her, “but I can’t make myself be angry.” Link furrowed his brow, unable to deny the truth yet puzzled by her peaceful acceptance. “More than anything, you’re my best friend, and I’m thankful for everything you’ve done. Maybe the goddesses made us to be just that.”

Link did not feel the expected heartbreak; he felt relief and worry, but never heartbreak.

“You’ll always be my best friend, Ilia,” he said softly, smiling finally.

She glanced over her shoulder and grinned, toothy and bright despite her tears. “I know, Link,” she cooed, “and you’ll always be my hero.”

The phrase caused Link to stiffen, dreading the very word, very title he wished he hadn’t been given. Before he could choke out his thanks, Ilia pulled the door shut and hurried back towards the village, curling into herself against the cold fall air. He considered that the silence must have been for the better and turned his back to the door.

His eyes immediately caught the envelope on his desk, royal seal still intact. He sighed and tore open the envelope, knowing very well that he had resolved to never again leave his beloved Ordon.

An hour later, Link tied a bag of clothes onto Epona’s back, adjusted the sword and shield slung over his left shoulder, and started towards the Faron Woods.


	4. Chapter 4

Zelda hated state dinners, hated entertaining people of an equal or higher standing who were just begging for her to mess up, hated the stifling small talk of kingdoms who would wage war at the slightest wrong move. She liked her people better than the monarchs seated at her table, for her people didn’t place a target on her back -- or, perhaps, her land. Her people followed her faithfully, without question, and she wished that she could have opened her coronation to only those living in her kingdom.

There were thirteen others mingling throughout the dining room, waiting for their hostess to signal the start of dinner. Three kings, four queens, three lords, two ladies, and Lady Aren could smell the evening’s feast wafting from the kitchen, but Zelda refused to call in the servers until a fourteenth person made his appearance.

At Zelda’s left, Lady Aren leaned towards her and whispered below the chatter of the crowd. “Princess,” she said, tapping a sharp nail against the stone walls, “I would start the meal. I don’t think your Ordonian hero is coming.”

Zelda pursed her lips and rose from her chair, scoping her guests and wishing a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed hero was among them. She cleared her throat, the sound piercing the chatter.

“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for joining me on this joyous night,” she said firmly but kindly, a slight smile gracing her features. “Please have a seat, and we will eat supper momentarily.”

As the crowd dispersed to their assigned seats, Zelda attempted to maintain a gracious appearance while simultaneously despising her behavior. Her public persona seemed more of a marble statue than a young woman, carved to please the eyes of her audience. Inside of the statue, all of Zelda’s ideals, morals, and quirks screamed and yearned to escape. She so dearly wished that, for one moment, she could escape the responsibilities of a figurehead and be more than Princess Zelda of Hyrule, more than a title and a crown.

Unfortunately, among her fellow figureheads, daring to be anything but a title would result in automatic scrutiny. She could not afford to be accused of incompetency quite yet.

Zelda lowered herself into her seat, dreading the vacancy to her right, and nodded towards one of the servers, who hurried to summon the rest of his staff and began passing out bowls of soup.

“So, dear Zelda,” piped Rego, the king of a southern kingdom who was not much older than Zelda herself and notoriously shrouded with scandal. Zelda watched as he gave a sly wink to the maid who served him and shuddered internally. Hadn’t the young girl’s sister been enough for him?

(Zelda had asked her in particular to serve him, grinning and telling her that she had every right to spit in his bowl if it would make her feel any less resentment towards him. The maid proved quite thankful for the blessing as she pranced away giddily.)

“You’re eighteen now, correct?”

“Nineteen, actually, sir.” Her reply came off as rather distant and uninterested, more so than she had meant for it. She had the sneaking suspicion that the conversation would turn to something slimy and wished that someone, anyone would interject.

No such interjection came as Rego nodded slowly and gave Zelda a flirtatious glance, paying no mind to his poor queen at his left.

“Nineteen years old and not a word of marriage!” chuckled Rego, and the rest of the guests stirred, wanting both to laugh and to not offend their hostess. Zelda rolled her eyes at the outdated ideas but continued to listen to his words. “My, we all have half a mind to think that there may be something _besides_ your own stubbornness keeping you from marrying.” His grin turned to that of a snake ready to bite. “Is there some dirty chambermaid you aren’t telling us about? You’re amongst friends, my dear, so be…”

Zelda cleared her throat and raised her soup spoon, signalling for the meal to commence. The rest of the table awkwardly started on their meal as Zelda stared down the southern king with steely eyes.

“I think that’s quite enough,” she said, and her flat mouth twisted into a smirk, “ _Prince_ Rego.”

Rego choked on his soup. The rest of the table responded in various degrees of shock and amusement, with Lady Aren at Zelda’s left hardly containing her laughter. The very moment he regained his composure he narrowed his eyes at the princess, offended that she dare underestimate his power. He dabbed at his lips with his napkin before speaking again, tone less teasing and more enraged.

“Call me what you will, princess, but what power do you have if your guest of honor won’t even come when called?” Rego tipped his spoon towards the vacancy to her right, reminding her of the dread that Link truly wasn’t interested in her affairs.

“The Hero Chosen by the Gods has earned the right to make his appearance whenever he so desires,” chided Aren, “and I ask on Her Royal Highness’ behalf that you do not make such _erroneous_ comments to your hostess.”

Rego snorted, likely disgusted that a mere nurse would _dare_ try to assert power of him. The rest of the table froze, not even daring to clink silverware against dishes.

“How do we know such a hero even exists?” Rego asked, and Zelda gasped in slight offense. “Zelda, my girl, you’ve told none of your allies what _really_ happened in those months that you went mum, so we have no reason to believe that--”

Piercing blue eyes threw open the wooden doors of the dining room, followed by two castle guards. Link stared dumbfounded at Zelda as the guards restrained his arms; he made no attempt to wriggle free, and Zelda assumed it was because he could throw them off easily, which would hardly help his case. She rose and started towards the group, the entire world silent around her, and Link looked away shamefully as she grew nearer.

“Let him go,” she told the guards, who exchanged a look before releasing the young man. Link immediately took a knee before the princess, and as she extended a hand to help him up, he misunderstood the gesture and planted a chaste kiss on her knuckles. She rescinded her hand quickly as the table of royals stirred behind her, stifling soft laughs and whispered questions.

 _How embarrassing_ , she thought, knowing full well that Link didn’t know any better. She looked over her shoulder, seeing her audience as confused as herself and reading looks of offense and scandal on their faces. But of course the situation looked scandalous to them: they knew not that Link was unaccustomed to the ways and means of royalty, and Zelda wished she could tell them that. She hoped that the sight of a plain white shirt, brown trousers, and dusty boots against her lavish dress portrayed that well enough.

“Well, well.” Lady Aren broke the silence, rising from her seat and hurrying to the princess’ side. She looked Link up and down, paying no mind to his obvious discomfort, and chuckled lightly. Zelda bit her lip, fearing the words that may come out of her nurse’s vile mouth. “So you’re the Hero of Twilight?”

Link rubbed the back of his neck and weakly spat, “Yes’m.”

Lady Aren hummed and shook her head slowly, disapprovingly.

“Thought you would’ve been taller.”

Link shrank into himself and opened his mouth to apologize, though no sound came out. Zelda blushed and wanted nothing more than to crawl into the sewers and die. Though embarrassing at any point in time, Aren’s antics rarely occurred before such an esteemed group, and every part of her felt numb and weak and sick.

“If we could commence with the meal,” Zelda announced, though the crowd behind her seemed unlikely to listen to any command she might administer, “that would be wonderful. Link, I…” She motioned to the seat at the right of her’s, where a servant had just place a hot bowl of soup. “I’ve saved a seat for you.”

Blue eyes stared dumbfounded through Zelda, and Link was obviously astonished that such an important position had been reserved for him. He followed Zelda and Aren carefully to their seats before he seemed to have an epiphany; he then stepped ahead of both women and pulled out their seats for them, bowing graciously as each of them lowered into their seats.

“What a charmer,” Zelda heard Rego sarcastically whisper to his poor queen, who snickered audibly. “Don’t you think he’s a tad too skinny to be a hero?” She looked over towards Link with a sympathetic look, but he seemed ignorant to the gossip around him. He instead stared down at his soup with eyes full of hunger and want. He dared not touch his spoon, and Zelda nudged him slightly and raised her own spoon.

The first course of the meal passed in an uncomfortable silence, none daring to outwardly question the new arrival, the farmboy, the guest of honor. He ate his soup ravenously -- as ravenously as one could eat soup -- with quick, full spoonfuls and the slightest slurping noise accompanying each. When he finally noticed the silence he slowed down, gaze shifting between Zelda’s half-full bowl and his own, empty aside from a couple of loose vegetables.

“Would you like some more?” Zelda whispered. Though seconds weren’t traditionally offered at such a grand meal, she assumed that Link didn’t eat a lot of food back home, and his figure was much more slight than it had been when they parted ways from the Arbiter’s Grounds. “You’re allowed to have more food.”

Link shook his head and lowered his spoon. “No, thank you, ma’am,” he croaked, barely audible, looking towards the judging eyes before him. He glanced at King Rego, who smirked, and quickly lowered his gaze again. Zelda reached a hand towards his leg and lightly patted his thigh in an attempt to comfort him, an inappropriate gesture indeed. The young man nearly jumped from his seat and stuttered out a weak apology.

As the dinner commenced, conversation finally starting once again, Zelda worried that Rusl might have been right when he said Link wasn't quite the same.


	5. Chapter 5

By the main course of the meal, the dinner regained its livelihood prior to Link’s terribly awkward entrance. Zelda answered the questions of her guests graciously and accepted their compliments and extraneous remarks modestly. Lady Aren cracked jokes and used the state of affairs in foreign kingdoms as retaliation to any comment that dared underestimate the princess’ ability.

Link, perhaps, remained the sole person at the table who dared not speak. Even when spoken to by admiring (or doubtful) royalty, he answered only in soft hums, stiff nods, and half-hearted shrugs. The perturbed and slightly offended looks of the crowd before him roused him not, and he seemed more interested in the food than the conversation.

He livened up whenever Zelda acknowledged him, be it nudging him to ask a hush-hush question or notifying him whenever another person in attendance commented on his status. The attentiveness lasted only a fleeting second, and every single time Zelda prayed that the wide eyes and crooked (though slight) grin would last half a second longer.

After excusing her guests to their chambers for the evening, Zelda retreated to her own bedroom to think and to suffer at the hands of Link’s rejection. Generations of princesses had fallen in love with generations of heroes, yet Zelda could hardly get hers to smile for longer than a brief moment.

Her faith in the tales of old was wavering; the hall of portraits prominently featured the Goddess Reborn and the Hero of the Skies, yet her supposed destiny didn’t even tell her to sleep well before abandoning his hostess.

In times of trouble, Zelda prayed to Nayru that she could find a solution to or, at the very least, solace in her situation. At age nine, upon being alerted of the triforce within her, she told Nayru to please help her figure out her arithmetic lessons. Following that, her then-tutor Auru scolded her for using her blessing for such fickle matters, yet he hardly hid his smirk.

At age thirteen, she asked dear Nayru to grant her the ability to console her people in times of trouble; down the hall, she heard her mother’s soul leave her body with a final weak cough.

At age eighteen, she thanked Nayru for a lifetime of guidance before taking the sword of state against the monsters of Twilight.

Finally, at age nineteen, atop the balcony that jutted from her suite, she prayed to the Goddess of Wisdom for assistance in understanding her unfathomable counterpart. Her hands quivered as she did so, knowing she was using something so sacred for something so selfish.

“Oh, holy Nayru, what have I done wrong?” she lamented, cool autumn breeze stinging her nose and cheeks. “Am I where the prophecy ends? How is it that I, Princess of Hyrule, can’t even befriend the man who saved my life?” She pondered for a second before picking a stray leaf from a pot of flowers, which fluttered down to her slippered feet. “Perhaps, it is he, not I, who is in the wrong?”

Silence.

“No! Of course not, Hylia; how ridiculous I am!”

Grinding the leaf onto the floor of the balcony, she grimaced. Nayru, though a constant guiding force in her life, for once seemed silent. Absent.

Zelda scoffed, ignoring the rare tears that welled in her eyes. Where was her goddess when she was needed?

“How ridiculous I am!” she spat towards the heaven, cursing both her naivety and thoughts of blasphemy. Nayru owed her nothing, Hylia owed her nothing, and, quite frankly, she was daft for thinking they’d want anything to do with her petty troubles.

“It _is_ ridiculous, huh?” echoed a voice in the distance, too coarse and accented to belong to any divine entity. Curious, Zelda followed the voice before spotting Link, perched on his own balcony (albeit much smaller and less decorated than Zelda’s own) and staring down at his feet. 

Zelda quickly ducked below the railing, keeping a close eye on the Ordonian. He appeared oblivious to the Princess’ presence just a story above him. He let out a sigh and a laugh, a beautiful noise that made Zelda’s heart twinge.

“I dunno,” he grimaced, scraping the toe of his boot against the stone balcony. “Nothing’s been the same ever since you left. I feel different. I’m scared and confused and…”

He cleared his throat and spat down into the garden, a gesture that made Zelda stomach turn.

“Shit, I’m weak. I dunno what else it could be, but… ah, hell. I’ve failed Farore, and the Triforce of Courage, an’ probably the rest of the the Golden Goddesses, too, for good measure, but honestly? I failed you, Midna.”

An audible gasp escaped Zelda’s mouth before she even considered stifling it. Link, caught in his own emotional turmoil, paid no mind to the noise and simply laughed. He stared towards the night sky, through the clouds and stars and straight into the Twilight, Zelda reasoned.

“If you could see me now,” he chuckled, “you’d put every last shard of that ol’ mirror back together just to kick my ass.” The subsequent laugh was a lovely sound, laced with something even thicker and sweeter than honey, and Zelda wished she could have prompted it.

Shaggy hair flew about as Link shook his head. “But I’d let ya,” he finished. “Din knows I deserve it. Hell, I’d let you do whatever you could to express your disappointment in me. Midna, I…”

In the pause, Zelda perched on her toes and leaned closer towards the edge of the balcony, clammy hands gripping the railing.

“I’ve been havin’ nightmares real bad, Midna. I’m a wolf, and then I’m a human, but then I’m weak and I’m losin’ you an’ Ilia, and… shit. I’m here at the castle for Zelda’s coronation--” Zelda noted how Link skipped over the second syllable of ‘coronation’; his Ordonian accent was intriguing. “But I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong.”

“Why not?” she asked, aware that Link couldn’t hear her. As the spirit of the hero, he was right where he needed to be. He needed to be honored, and Zelda even felt that she wasn’t doing enough. What _could_ she do to repay her debt to him?

“I don’t think I was supposed to be the hero. There are hundreds of knights and geniuses in Hyrule who could’a done it, and I think I was jus’ at the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m beginning to think Farore made a mistake when she chose me, because ain’t no real hero actin’ like I am.”

Pain flooded Zelda’s chest as the hero grieved, unable to believe that he found himself so unworthy. The Goddesses, though enigmatic at best, never cast their denizens in any situation that they could not handle, and Zelda didn’t know whether to be offended or sympathetic towards his question of faith.

Sighing, the princess rested her head between two bars. She silently vowed to do anything she could to help Link. _Not for my prophecy_ , she told herself, _but to give him his life back_. She hoped that she was being sincere.

Link rested his forehead on the railing of his balcony and muttered, hardly audible: “I think I’ve failed her, Midna. I’ve failed…”

“Princess?”

Zelda stood up quickly, stumbling as she turned to face Lady Aren. Her stiff, cold fingers attempted to comb through windblown locks, trying to appear presentable, and Aren simply stared back in all-knowing concern.

“L-lady Aren,” she sputtered gracelessly, “I was just, um…” She glanced over her shoulder; Link had retreated back into his chamber, likely having heard the commotion above him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Unsurprisingly, Aren appeared wary of Zelda’s excuse. Zelda should have known better than to lie to the woman, her constant companion since the cradle, yet what could she do? Tell the truth and appear pathetic and naive?

Of course not. Zelda vowed to hide her desperation and yearning until she could no longer save either Link or herself.

“You do have a big day tomorrow,” Aren reasoned, smirking, “but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She stepped through the threshold and motioned towards the landscape that extended before Zelda.

“You see all of that?”

“Yes, Lady Aren,” Zelda said softly, catching the faint light shining through Link’s balcony door suddenly fade.

Aren grabbed her bicep softly and grinned. “Those are your people, Your Highness. They want to see you prosper.” She then tugged the sleeve of the young woman’s nightgown and started towards the bedroom. “Everyone in Hyrule loves you, child.”

Zelda nodded stiffly before turning towards her chamber and flashing one more sad look at Link’s vacant, lonely balcony.

_Not everyone, my lady._

As she retreated inside, Zelda swore she heard an impish giggle echoing in the night.


	6. Chapter 6

In two hours, a lifetime of preparation would finally prove useful.

However, at the current time, Zelda was still a princess in the care of her handmaids. While one worked Zelda’s fine hair through a comb, another applied rouge to her lips, and a pair of young twins tended to her hands and feet. They kept the chatter to a minimum, fearing the slightest mistake on such an important day, and Zelda stifled a yawn.

Once Zelda quit tossing and turning and finally fell asleep, the night’s dream featured the Goddess Reborn, who prayed to Hylia about destiny before declaring to the goddess that she wished to establish a permanent settlement on the land. At her side, her hero (blond-haired, blue-eyed and baby-faced, just like Zelda’s own), prayed for safety as he took to the sky for one final endeavor. The Goddess Reborn warned him to be careful, noting the storm that seemed to be stirring above, but with a swift kiss and a final hug, the hero assured her he had faith in Hylia to bring him back alive.

Following the storm, a red-haired knight solemnly told the Goddess Reborn that her hero had been found on the forest floor, his sailcloth ten feet away and his loftwing in critical condition.

Zelda had been woken from her nightmare by a grinning Aren with a hoard of maids in tow, who started tending to the princess before her eyes were even completely open. Between bathing, dressing, and leading a prayer to Hylia with her servants, Zelda had little time to contemplate the dream. She figured it was the result of months of worry, nothing less and nothing more.

(A small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she knew little of the Goddess Reborn’s true past, for few records for such ancient times existed.)

“I wish I were as beautiful as you, my lady,” chirped the girl applying the paint to Zelda’s thin lips as she pulled away, admiring her handiwork. “There’s really no denying that you have the blood of the Goddess.”

From behind, another girl placed a golden crown atop the princess’ head. “I think you’re even more beautiful than the Goddess, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, really,” Zelda replied as the handmaids gathered in front of her, cooing about beauty and grace and Goddess blood. As a girl, she hated hearing all the rhetoric about being a beautiful young maiden of Hylia’s bloodline, but after nineteen years of the same praise, she became quite indifferent. She had long accepted she could never be seen as an equal to her maids, or even her ladies-in-waiting, being far too holy in their eyes. 

Upon returning to reality, she noticed the young girls fidgeting, waiting for the princess to give them another order. She furrowed her brow at first, perplexed by their behavior, but then dismissed them with a quick wave and a feeble smile.

As the girls hurried out, one of the twins whispered that the princess wasn’t good at smiling. Her sister swatted at her arm but giggled in agreement nonetheless; the statement hardly phased Zelda. She reasoned that there were much worse things to be than stoic.

The group seemed to have another conniption once they had exited Zelda’s chamber, but she assumed that they were simply releasing the laughter that they were too afraid to share with the princess. She was proven wrong, however, when Link entered her bedroom wearing his familiar green ensemble and a crimson blush. 

“Th-those girls,” he nearly whispered, closing the door behind him. “They sure are an ornery bunch.”

“They’re not the brightest,” the princess admitted, rising slowly and stepping towards the hero. Her coronation gown was heavier than both her daily attire and her standard ceremonial dresses, and she grabbed handfuls of her skirt in order to take a step. “But they’re young. I think we should let them be ornery while they still can be.” She paused and then gave a single soft laugh. “Shouldn’t you have knocked before entering my chamber, Link?”

Zelda pretended not to notice the cursing under his breath as he stared down at his boots, engrossed more in the worn leather than the woman before him. He didn’t even attempt to say sorry, instead shying away, yet Zelda understood. She could read the apology curling on his lips, the guilt racking his brain, and yet she was not offended.

“I am not angry, Link,” she laughed, a weak sound but a laugh nonetheless. “I just want to know why you came. You’ve been so adamant to avoid me that seeing you in my private room is quite the surprise.”

“With all due respect, Princess,” Link piped, scuffing the toe of his boot against her ornate rug, “I can’t ever tell if you’re bein’ serious when you confront me.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, ma’am, it just… reminds me of Midna is all.”

“Oh.”

Zelda loosened her grip on her skirts, and the layers of lace and taffeta billow around her ankles. His affinity for Midna came as no surprise, as the pair had spent months together saving Hyrule, yet Zelda couldn’t stop the jealousy that she so despised from coming over her. She knew such jealousy was bratty and spoiled and that she had much more important matters to concern herself with. Who was she to mind Link’s private life, anyway?

(His destiny, of course.)

The young man watched as her gaze slowly shifted downwards and cleared his throat, unnerved by her sudden meekness. 

“Princess,” he said, “I just came to get you ‘cause Lady Aren told--”

“Were you in love with Midna?”

Zelda hadn’t thought before speaking and went red immediately. It was a trivial question from a shameless girl, fit in no way to be queen when she was only preoccupied with romance and envy. She wanted to eat her words and smack herself and maybe even retreat to a neighboring kingdom to hide from her embarrassment. Perhaps Termina would have her?

Link, meanwhile, maintained his composure (was he ever  _ not _ so collected?). He silently watched her meltdown, bringing her hands to her cheeks and attempting to sputter an apology. He dared not reach for her and attempt to comfort her, an action she was both thankful for and offended by, and took a minute to open his mouth. When he finally did, he made the most blissful sound.

He laughed.

Zelda silenced as a large grin spread over his face, torn between her own embarrassment and her hero’s amusement. Never in their prior encounters had she seen him so expressive, but in an instant he was doubled over and gasping for breath. 

She couldn’t even be angry, having never seen him crack more than half a smile, and began to chuckle herself, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She chose not to ask questions and continued to laugh uneasily. 

There was intimacy in his sudden emotion, and she yearned to preserve the moment.

“I-I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Link said, straightening his posture and locking eyes with the princess. A single tear rested in the corner of his right eye. “I just… Midna and I? In love?”

“It’s a viable question,” defended Zelda half-heartedly. 

“I know, ma’am but… oh, Nayru save you, milady.”

Zelda clenched her jaw. “Maybe you should just answer the question, Link.”

The sudden sharpness silenced Link, who retreated back into aloofness. 

“I… sorry, ma’am.” He kicked the toe of his boot against the floor and shifted his gaze downwards. “Midna was an amazin’ woman. Sure, she was a tad rude and all kinds of ornery, but we spent so much time together, and we’re only alive because of each other. We went through a lot of emotional stuff, and I feel like we were connected. Losin’ her was like losin’ a part of myself.”

He sighed. “I love her, sure, but  I’m not in love with her.”

Without another word, Zelda started towards her chamber door. Was she jealous? She had no reason to be, for Link had spent months with Midna and had every right to feel affection for her. They fought and thought and saved the  _ goddamn world _ together, and what had Zelda done for Link?

Sat in a tower and watched her people become devoured by a foreign land. She could never forgive herself for her passivity, and she wondered if Link -- or her people -- ever would.

“Um, Princess Zelda.” Link hurried ahead of her and opened the door for her, and his chivalry made her seethe. Did he think of her as helpless? “As I was sayin’, Lady Aren sent me to escort you. She says I’m supposed to be your champion; did you know that?”

Zelda nodded, passing through the door with fistfuls of taffeta. Link angled himself to make sure that the layers of her crinoline didn’t get caught on the buckles of his boots. “Yes, I did.” 

No, she didn’t, but her spoiled jealousy overshadowed her willingness to communicate.

Link was silent as he led her through the winding halls of Hyrule Castle, but then again, when wasn’t he silent? As he walked, he shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the Hylian shield over his back. Zelda’s eyes widened, only now aware of the sword of state on his back.

“Do you plan on fighting someone?” she asked, barely concealing her bitter tone. Link flinched.

“No, ma’am,” he said. Despite being the one wielding a weapon, he seemed to fear the princess. “Lady Aren said that the champion has t’fight potential challengers.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. There hasn’t been a challenger in generations.”

Link hummed in response, and the conversation was over.

The coronation procession started at the foot of the third floor stairwell, with Zelda at the head. Behind her, Lady Aren and the rest of the council carried various pieces of regalia, and bringing up the rear would be Link, sword of state in hand, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Despite her insistence that she could walk herself ten feet, Link escorted Zelda to her place. He caught Lady Aren’s eye and gave her a minute smile and a stiff nod; he then knelt before the princess and wished her luck through a soft glance. 

She thanked him quietly, hardly above a whisper. Her stomach turned at his fierce stare. She couldn’t stay mad at him.

The very moment that Link had taken his place at the end of the procession, Lady Aren glared at her with all-knowing eyes. Zelda took in a slow breath, preparing for the wise words to come, but Lady Aren simply shook her head. Somehow, Zelda considered, her silent disdain hurt worse than any one of her prior verbal punishments.

“Your hero and I spoke today,” she said. “Well, I spoke to your hero, because that silly boy doesn’t say much of anything.” She looked over her shoulder, over the procession of councilmen behind them, and eyed the fidgeting hero. Zelda thought he appeared quite uncomfortable with idleness, but why wouldn’t he? Given his past, he knew everything but mundane.

“He’s scared to be here, you know,” the nursemaid continued, “and he’s very uncomfortable among your audience.”

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me what I already know,” Zelda wondered aloud, tone soft and detached. Link didn’t belong among royalty, a fact she dreaded accepting, and she figured that she would have him attend the coronation and subsequent ball and let him return to his home. Forcing him to stay was a waste of breath, of energy, of emotion.

Lady Aren shook her head, expression full of disdain and amusement simultaneously. “Quit frowning, Your Highness. You’ll crease your make-up. I’m telling you this because of your grandmother. You know, Queen Zelda III, Zelda the…”

“...Mad, yes, I’ve heard the stories.” The princess pursed her lips, dissatisfied with Lady Aren’s talk of the previous queen. “However, she has nothing to do with Link, may she rest in peace. Not even Hylia herself could make Link comfortable in my company, and…” She swallowed, hard and slow, the emotions building in her throat. “And I have to accept that whether I like it or not.”

And no, she didn’t like it. She didn’t love him, but she desired him.

However, as she looked into the omnipotent eyes of her nursemaid, she doubted she ever wanted Link. She cared not for his attention; it meant little if she had to coax every last word from him. 

All she wanted from Link was for him to finally fulfill nineteen years worth of fairy tales, to sweep her off her feet after saving the kingdom and make her feel as though she was as significant as the Goddess Reborn. 

“I remember when your grandmother was pregnant with your father, and she had an affection for a certain young knight.” Lady Aren snickered; she was once again a young handmaid, sharing gossip with other maidens behind the monarch’s back, fearing not the repercussions of being caught. Zelda knew the look all too well from her own girls. 

“Oh, her husband hated their friendship, but the queen adored him nonetheless. One day, she invited him to dinner with the royal family. He didn’t fit in, oh, no. I remember he was somehow worse than Link over there. Regardless, there was one thing that drew him from his reserve.”

“Queen Zelda,” Zelda answered before the question even curled off of her nurse’s tongue.

“He was angry,” Lady Aren continued. “Angry at the king. Angry at the moon and the skull kids in the Lost Woods and the world around him. Your grandmother brought peace to him, though. Even despite the battles in his mind, she could calm him down.

“He was hurt, Zelda--” The princess was taken back, stunned by the use of only her name. No titles, no formalities, just intimacy. “And I think your hero is hurt, too. Now…” She chuckled, dropping the seriousness of the prior words. “You don’t have to save him. That’s not your job, and if anyone ever tries to tell them otherwise, you have every right to give them a piece of your mind. However…” 

She reached for Zelda’s cheek and patted it softly. “You’re the one with the Triforce of Wisdom. Figure out what you need to do and do it no matter the cost.”

With that, the nursemaid removed her hand and turned to a councilman to scold him for holding a tapestry too close to the ground.

Zelda was stunned. She opened her mouth to speak but could only utter little sounds of question and confusion. She knew what she wanted to say but couldn’t find that words, years of language and grammar lessons swept away, astonished by the wise words of an old nanny.

Queen Zelda III, despite all the rumors that shrouded her, had good in her. Zelda could vaguely remember her heart and affection from the interactions they’d had in the princess’ youth. Zelda wholeheartedly believed that her grandmother’s story, though lacking in the heroes of Zeldas prior, was one of the purest, rawest she had the blessing to learn.

“Perhaps  _ you _ should bear this Triforce,” she jokingly remarked under her breath, and Lady Aren turned to the princess with a sparkle in her eye.

“Years of war and peace have taught me more than the Golden Power ever could,” Aren replied as the head councilman whispered in her ear. She hummed, large grin spreading across her face.

“Princess,” she said, “it’s time.”

With a brisk nod, Zelda straightened her posture, rolled back her shoulders, and prepared to enter her throne room as a princess for the final time. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Hylian Reverie_ is now being cross-posted to Tumblr. Please direct questions or immediate concerns to hyliastoria.

While the castle slept soundly, not even the faintest snore piercing the silence, Link suffered from yet another nightmare.

Waking up in a pool of tears and sweat had become commonplace for the young man, yet he still dreaded the sticky, suffocating feeling as he threw his blankets to the ground and alternated between sobbing, cursing, and dry-heaving.

Hours later, exhaustion shrouded him as he followed the royal procession into the throne room. The clothes of his ancestor fit looser than he remembered (a fact he attributed not to eating less but to vomiting more), yet he figured that wearing the hero’s characteristic green ensemble would reflect a champion well. Also, though he wouldn’t admit it, he also didn’t own anything nicer.

Link hated the throne room, hated the vastness brought on by the high ceiling and colossal Goddesses and the claustrophobia brought about by the many, many Hyrulians packed tightly together, each one wishing to see the princess become the queen. He wanted to be home and, truth be told, would have left in the dead of night if serving the princess wasn’t his civic duty.

In truth, he hated every last detail of the castle, down to the individual threads in the handwoven rugs. The hatred stemmed from his final undertaking in the battle to defeat Ganondorf, for though the halls were now refurbished, any signs of twilight hidden under limestone, Link could still feel the Demon King’s haunting influence. Any moment left alone was spent in the pure agony of his thoughts. Ghoul rats gnawed at his clothes and skin, and whenever he rounded a corner, he feared finding Bulblins or Stalfos on the other side.

The royal choir’s lullaby filled his ears, a steep contrast from the eerie silence of his first tour in the castle and a very welcome distraction from the inner workings of his mind. Link kept his head bowed as he took his place ten feet and a flight of stairs below Zelda’s right. He made brief eye contact with her nursemaid before adjusting his stance, standing with legs shoulder-width apart and hands clasped in the small of his back. He raised his chin and kept his head high, just as Lady Aren had instructed.

(Her voice echoed in the back of his mind as he did so, reminding him to stand like a real knight just as she had in hours prior. He thought the same reply that he was unable to utter then: “I’ll never be a real knight.”)

The choir faded away. Link resisted the urge to turn his head to the princess.

“People of Hyrule,” the chamberlain announced in a booming baritone; even Link flinched at the sudden sound, “please accompany me in a prayer to Her Grace, the Goddess Hylia.”

And they did. A thousand heads bowed in unison, and Link looked out upon the crowd (Lady Aren had warned him to watch the crowd even during the time of worship, concerned that some heretic may interrupt the prayer).

“Goddess Hylia, we gather today to recognize Her Royal Highness Princess Zelda as she ascends to the throne. We pray that You grant her the courage to lead without regret or fear in the face of even the greatest of evils.”

Link noticed the faintest of whispers behind him. He turned his head until Princess Zelda came into view, and he saw that she was mouthing along to the words of the prayer. She appeared serene, not in anyway nervous or scared for the responsibilities ahead of her. Link admired that peace.

“We pray that You grant her the wisdom to command Hyrule Kingdom and its inhabitants for the greater good of all.”

Of course the princess possessed that wisdom; Link nearly scoffed at the implication she hadn’t already been blessed by Nayru and her sisters.

“Finally, we pray that You grant her the power to loyally serve her kingdom, Hyrule Kingdom, until her dying breath. We, the citizens of Hyrule Kingdom, call upon Your Grace to protect Her Royal Highness from the beginning of her reign until she joins you in the Sacred Realm. Thank you.”

A sea of heads raised slowly, attentive stares washing over the princess. Silence echoed off the walls of the throne room, and Link swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. He pitied Princess Zelda for the pressure on her but quickly decided that the attention bothered her not.

“Princess Zelda,” the chamberlain started, “do you solemnly swear to govern Hyrule and its citizens mercifully and in accordance with the laws that your ancestors have enacted during generations prior?”

The princess spoke slowly, and Link felt butterflies swirl deep in his stomach as he pictured her rose-colored lips curling around the oath. Even the colossal goddesses above her head quivered at the power and confidence she radiated.

“Do you solemnly swear to put the needs of your kingdom over your own?”

“I do,” Princess Zelda replied. Link wondered if their thoughts intertwined as he considered her sacrifices during the invasion of the Twili.

“Do you solemnly swear to uphold your faith in the Golden Goddesses and Her Grace Hylia above all others, as well as to live and reign in Hylia’s image, just as your bloodline would reflect?”

Bloodline. Link considered bloodline, heritage, and, above all, fate, and his head began to ache. The princess was bound to a fate that she couldn’t change: grow up royal, ascend to the throne, lead a kingdom into what she could only hope to be prosperity, and perish with a golden crown perched atop her head. Idyllic as it seemed, Link wondered if she resented it, if she ever awoke to dreams of villages and farms and wished them so dearly to be real.

Did she view the crown as a blessing or a curse? He wondered if, for her, today was one of infamy or of joy.

Somehow, he decided, it fell in the middle of those extremes, a day feared yet eagerly anticipated.

In his tangled web of thoughts, Link missed the rest of the princess’ oath (though he didn’t quite regret missing the chamberlain’s dull words). He heard the chamberlain mention the throne and immediately flinched, the image of Ganondorf perched upon the Hyrulean throne still vivid in his mind. For the first time in the afternoon he was quite glad that he couldn’t turn to watch the princess: he feared who might really be in her place.

“People of Hyrule,” the chamberlain announced once Princess Zelda was (presumably) seated, “I will now anoint Her Royal Highness with the Great Fairy’s Tears, won from the Cave of Ordeals by of one of Hyrule’s bravest knights.”

Link nearly scoffed aloud. He had seen the chalice of “tears” prior to the ceremony and knew that it was water from Lanayru’s spring at best. The Great Fairy’s Tears held a purple tint, and the water was clear as day. He wondered what else the royal family lied about.

“Finally--” The room froze, holding onto the chamberlain’s pause. “Her Royal Highness Zelda of Hyrule will be presented with the crown of the Hyrulean Royal Family and will rise as Queen Zelda of Hyrule, fourth of her name.”

Another pause, another fidget from Link. He knew what came next.

“If anyone objects to Princess Zelda’s ascension to the throne, please rise and make your challenge known.”

The princess’ words resonated in Link’s mind: _there hasn’t been a challenger in generations_. The crowd was still, and Link assumed that he had served his obsolete purpose.

Just as the chamberlain reached for the crown, the sound of his fluttering robes breaking through the stillness, a scream erupted from the crowd.

Link reached for the sword on his back and unsheathed it in a single quick motion. A man with a scar down his face shoved his way to the center aisle and pointed a thick, quivering finger at the princess. He had tanned skin and a sturdy build, presumably acquired from days of hauling livestock (Link knew the appearance all too well), and he spoke in a bitter tone.

“That woman has done nothing for her people!” he declared amidst the harrowed gasps of noblemen and citizens alike. Link gritted his teeth and took a cautious step forward.

(He hadn’t practiced sword-fighting in months and feared he wouldn’t be any good. The man was much bigger than him, too, stronger and more intimidating. Despite being able to defeat the towering monstrosities in the temples of Hyrule, the man before him made his heart race, his palms sweat, and his stomach turn.)

“She let us suffer in the face of evil!” he continued, and when Link moved closer, he puffed out his chest to appear bigger than he was. Link didn’t want trouble and extended an amicable hand, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t find the words. He could never find words when he needed them most.

“The Royal Family has caused too much suffering in the past generations, and I don’t know why we still allow those monstrosities to rule. They try to erase their wrongdoings, but justice can never be restored to the Sheikah, or to the Gerudo. They’re hungry for power, just like the evil they try to fight!” The man grabbed Link’s shoulders and pulled him aggressively; he reacted only with a gasp, much to the man’s dismay.

“Even their knights are mistreated! Look at him, weak and malnourished!” As he shook Link by the shoulders, the young man turned his head to avoid the man’s spit in his face; up close, he noted the man’s deep red curls.

The man threw Link to the side. “Try as they might to be innocent, the royal family is anything but. The history of Hyrule is written in blood!”

Link then lunged forward, head full of static as the man’s final words echoed in his skull. His stomach churned violently but didn’t inhibit him from desperately swinging his sword in erratic yet calculated motions. He screamed intangible profanity at the man but heard nothing in return.

Ten seconds or an eternity later, Link was pulled off the man by another soldier. He took little notice of the blood pooling around the man’s arm as he stumbled up the throne room steps and returned to his prior position; he tried to stare directly forward, past the gawking crowd and the knights hauling away the bloodied man. He found that he could not focus his gaze as his entire body shook with rage.

But it wasn’t rage, he decided as the chamberlain announced that the ceremony would commence in a voice that sounded worlds away. He wasn’t angry at the man for throwing him about, insinuating his weakness, or even placing generations of wrongdoings on Princess Zelda. He hadn’t wanted to fight the man, hoping to communicate before resorting to violent -- a _stupid_ idea indeed, for Link would always fail at communicating -- and the man hadn’t been a threat. He was a man, and man could be reasoned with.

But his final words repeated in Link’s mind, pounding against his skull like a hammer to an anvil. The history of Hyrule, the good that basked in the light and the bad that remained hidden in the shadows, was a bloody one indeed, as another monster had already told him.

Link’s stomach lurched as he considered the same words sliding from Ganondorf’s slimy tongue. In the same distant voice as before, the chamberlain declared the princess to be Queen Zelda of Hyrule, fourth of her name, blood of the Goddess Reborn.

The audience declared, “All hail the Queen,” and Link raised the sword of state to the heavens, as he had been instructed to do in his briefing. He pretended that he didn’t see the crimson stain along the edge of the sword. Three times they greeted the young monarch before the royal choir started again with a haunting lullaby, and the queen started down the aisle of her throne room.

As she passed Link, she glanced at him with a somber look. Her eyes held concern, pity, disgust, and sympathy, and Link lowered his eyes. He wondered if she was unreadable or if he was too oblivious to read her.

Once again, Link brought up the end of the procession. He could hear the faint whispers and curious questions of the guests but ignored them as he did the rest of the castle folk’s spiteful words. They mattered not; he would be returning to Ordon after the evening’s festivities and would never see them again.

The princess -- _Queen_ , he corrected himself -- escorted her council as far as the hall outside her chamber before stopping, giving a great sigh, and turning to them with a faint smile adorning her lips (her soft, sweet, _rose_ lips).

“We’ve done it,” she announced, removing the ornate crown from head and handing it to Lady Aren. Praises erupted from the line of councilmen, to which she humbly nodded in reply before silencing them with a raised hand. Her eyes locked with Link’s.

“Now, I believe you all have a ball to prepare for,” she announced, and Lady Aren and the council turned on their heels. Link turned, too, unsure of where he planned to go, but the queen’s next words stopped him.

“Except for you, Link. I’d like to talk to you.”

He faced her slowly, unable to maintain eye contact and squirming under her glance.

She stepped towards Link, and Link found that her gaze was less threatening in close proximity.

“Link,” she said softly, without the power of the voice she had used during her coronation, “what happened in there?”

His mouth moved; words did not come out. Something inhibited him from speaking, be it his churning stomach or his tight throat. Queen Zelda only looked at him kindly, empathetically, and Link wondered how one could ever think she was queen only for power.

At an arm’s distance, she was positively divine, and Link swallowed hard.

“That wasn’t you out there, Link, and I wanted to know if you were alright. Forgive me, but I had never seen someone so scared in my life until then.”

“Your High-- Majesty, sorry, I…”

“Call me Zelda, please.”

“I…” Link felt that it’d been inappropriate to call the queen by name and name only, but if she requested it, did he have the right to disagree? “Um, okay, Zelda…”

Locking eyes with Zelda, he found the slightest bit of security and said, barely above a whisper:

“I’m the biggest damn fool in all o’Hyrule.”

Zelda grinned bigger than any Link had ever seen her give, one more genuine than the regal smiles she gave her fellow nobles, and, despite the shame he felt, he smiled, too. He thought it made her seem beautifully human, the antithesis of the royal puppet she tried to be.

Upon considering her a puppet, Link’s smile faded away.

“Oh, no, you’re not,” she said, smile quivering as she clearly attempted to stifle a laugh. Link blushed; was the queen of the entire kingdom of Hyrule really teasing him? “Those people wouldn’t understand what happened if it were written at every spring in Hyrule.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin--”

“Link, you didn’t!” She looked around at her surroundings, searching the hall for any councilmen still nearby before speaking again in a hushed voice. “If anyone did anything to ruin my coronation -- and, I can assure you, even if they did, I wouldn’t be too offended. It is a dated tradition -- it would be the fool who thought I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between spring water and the Great Fairy’s Tears. Does the Triforce of Wisdom mean nothing?”

“Th…” Link couldn’t help the smile curling on his lips. Had the stoic Zelda just made a joke? “You noticed that?”

“Yes, I did.” Zelda looked at him with sad eyes (dare Link say he saw a bit of misplaced longing in her gaze?) before facing her chamber door. She heaved a sigh and sounded dejected as she reached for the knob. “I hate to send you away so soon, but I do have to get ready. But, Link, before you go…”

She opened her chamber door and disappeared inside; when she emerged, she held in her outstretched arms a blue tunic and a pair of tan trousers. She all but pushed the clothing into Link’s arms, and he couldn’t help his senseless, befuddled muttering as he inspected the outfit.

“I didn’t figure you had brought anything terribly fancy,” Zelda admitted, “so I had my seamstress make you an outfit for the occasion. I apologize if it’s a bit big. You’ve lost weight.”

Link wanted to thank her for the gift and her thoughtfulness, but the words tied themselves around his tongue.

“Zelda…” He looked between the clothing and the queen before finally sputtering a reply.

“I, uh… you… blue ain’t my color.”

While Zelda gasped, both amused and surprised by his unrelated commentary, Link wanted to cut out his vocal chords and feed them to the beasts of Hyrule Field. Why, he wondered, did he struggle to speak in unfamiliar situations? His shyness was his greatest curse, a thorn from the Faron Woods’ most lethal plant stuck in his side.

Zelda, however, could look past his awkwardness and smiled at his opposition. She turned to her room, the train and sleeves of her dress fluttering behind her, and said, “I’ll meet you in the ballroom, Link,” before shutting her chamber door, leaving Link and his thoughts alone.

Link glanced once more at the bundle in his arms, heart leaping in his chest.

“All hail the Queen,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure if the pride that suddenly flooded his heart was for Hyrule or the Queen herself, but as he started towards his own chamber, a familiar loyalty flowed through his veins.


	8. Chapter 8

Link knew he would feel out-of-place at the coronation ball, never having attended anything more grand than Ordon’s annual harvest celebration, but he didn’t expect to feel so minute against the sea of guests.

Zelda made her grand entrance amongst the awe and envy of the crowd before her. Admittedly, unlike the majority of the guests, Link had not been anxiously awaiting the queen’s entrance (his main focus was on when dinner was served, for he had eaten neither breakfast nor lunch and, to his chagrin, had picked an entire cheese plate clean). When he ceased biting his nails to see what had the crowd so entranced, his head began to swim as he recognized the source of their wonder.

The queen appeared to float down the ballroom stairs, carried by a silky blue ballgown. Her brunette hair cascaded down her back and shoulders, its shine rivalling that of the tiara atop her head. She radiated confidence, sophistication, and something unknown: something other-wordly, celestial.

Something, Link considered, that put even the Golden Goddesses to shame.

Time and dinner commenced once she had completely descended the stairs. Though her seat was beside Link’s, Zelda stood for the duration of the dinner, visiting every table to thank her guests for their attendance. Link remained with only his plethora of silverware to keep him company, without so much as a ‘hello’ from the queen.

Whenever Zelda passed, she waved at him and gave a smile that was gracious but didn’t quite reflect previous joys he had seen in her. As she drifted past him, he pretended that his gaze didn’t linger on her angular nose or the gentle slope of her waist and hips.

Immense shame burned in his chest with every glance he stole. The queen, though often reduced to a simple figurehead, was undeserving of such objectification. He disrespected her with every longing gaze, for she was much more than beautiful.

She was strong, and he knew that. She was mature, brave, selfless, and compassionate. Link recalled their meeting in the hallway outside her chamber, where she had demonstrated friendliness and an incredibly sharp wit.

To reduce Zelda down to her beauty was to forget the very facets of her being that made Link adore her.

Link knew, however, that he had lingered on the thought too long when a deep, teasing voice resonated behind him:

“Zelda really is a fine piece of work, isn’t she?”

Link turned slowly, color draining from his cheeks as he was met with the taunting grin of King Rego, the monarch of a kingdom he hadn’t bothered to remember. He quickly turned away and shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to say or how to say it.

The foreign king did not recognize his apprehension -- or, perhaps, outright ignored it -- and lowered into the seat next to Link.

“Such a shame she isn’t married yet,” Rego lamented in an oily tone. Link shrugged; why did her marital status matter? She had more to focus on in life than the prospect of marriage.

“I understand why you look at her like that, Hero,” said the king, and Link’s stomach turned, both from the embarrassment of his infatuation and the man’s perverse words. “It’s quite unfortunate that you’re…” He paused, glanced over Link’s figure, and loosely grabbed at the loose tunic billowing around the young man’s gaunt form. “Well, whatever they call you. If you weren’t so pathetic, I’m sure Zelda would readily fall in love with you.”

Link brought up a hand and ruffled the back of his hair. Though he agreed that his behavior had been quite pitiful, the insinuation that Zelda could ever fall in love with him deeply disturbed him. Zelda was beautiful; she was celestial and graceful and ethereal, but Link didn’t love her. His infatuation was one of sheer admiration paired with physical attraction.

Unfortunately, he could not communicate his feelings, and his silence did nothing to help his cause.

When the king before him laughed, Link’s stomach turned violently (he now regretted eating dinner as well as the entire plate of cheese before that) and he tightly pursed his lips. He feared what might come out if he didn’t.

“Unless,” Rego whispered, leaning dangerously close to Link, breath hot and uncomfortable against his ear, “ _you’re_ the reason why the poor thing won’t wed.”

The pause that followed was excruciating, and Link squirmed.

“We all know the story. The queen falls in love with a man from the lower echelon but can’t marry him, lest she bring shame upon her family. The queen and her lover have a little _rendezvous_ , as they call it, and the rest is history.” Rego backed away, eyes darting around the room, before curling his lips into a vicious grin. “I’ve heard a rumor that the last reigning queen of Hyrule, Zelda’s grandmother, was particularly notorious about having affairs with guardsmen, and if our dear queen is anything like her, I’d imagine that the two of you have…”

“Is this man making you uncomfortable, Link?”

The familiar warmth of Zelda’s voice was paired with an unfamiliar sting. Link’s eyes darted from Zelda, to Rego, to the floor, answering the queen’s question.

Zelda’s lips curled into the slightest frown as Rego stood and grinned, crooked and malicious. Link thought Zelda (and the aura of confidence she so radiated) appeared more intimidating than Rego could ever hope to.

“Rego,” she said, voice lethal, “I’m honored to know that you’ve taken time out of your busy day to meet my champion, but I ask that you please leave him alone, because you’re inhibiting his duties. He can’t be on alert for predators if you’re distracting him.”

“ _Queen_ Zelda, my dear…” Link despised the man’s sugar-coated, condescending tone, offended that he would dare speak to Zelda in such a manner. “The only thing that your supposed champion was on alert for was dessert. I merely wished to speak to your hero--”

“And you’ve spoken to him.” She motioned towards the vast crowd with the wine goblet in her hand. “Go mingle with the rest of the guests. There’s no mistress to be found at this table.”

Link chuckled at the comment, prompting a final glare from the foreign king before he turned and stormed away. He enjoyed the irony of the fact that a man so obsessed with matrimony was so enticed by the prospect of extramarital affairs and turned to Zelda to make the comment; he was silenced at the sight of dejection lining her features.

“I’m sorry about him, Link,” she lamented, taking a slow sip from her wine goblet. She gave a disgusted look as the wine hit her tongue and sighed. “King Rego is… interesting. I known him since we were children — our fathers were friends and developed firm alliances between our kingdoms — and he’s always been a morally ambiguous man at best.”

“Why…” Link’s gaze shifted outward from her eyes to her expression, disturbed in the slightest way. “Why d’you still work with him?”

The question shocked Zelda, who quietly cleared her throat and adjusted her weight from one foot to the other; Link had never seen someone embody both awkwardness and grace. “Diplomacy? Tradition?” She paused, deep in thought, before throwing back the rest of her drink, and Link worried what might be going through her head, that he may have upset her. “It doesn’t matter. What are you going to do for the rest of the evening, Link?”

With the conversation back on him, the young man squirmed in his seat. Had he any other plans than to remain seated at the head table and wait until the crowd had cleared? He shrugged and searched around the room; upon eyeing Zelda’s empty glass, an idea passed through his head, and he laughed silently.

“Probably find a stiff drink,” he remarked with a soft smile. Upon seeing the slight raise of the queen’s eyebrows, his smile faded, shame overriding his previous self-confidence. Only a damned fool would say such indecent words before the queen.

(Though he had already established his position as a fool, he wasn’t a _damned_ fool.)

After surveying the crowd before her, Zelda nodded sharply and placed her glass on the table. “Good idea. Let’s go.”

“Wh… what?”

Link stared incredulously at the queen as she turned towards the entrance of the ballroom, fisting the many layers of her skirt to move with ease; on her feet she wore shining brown boots, a stark contrast from grandeur of her gown and jewelry. Link hurried to keep at pace with her, and he still hadn’t quite figured out if he had heard her right. Judging by her brisk walk and the determined look painted on her face, she had every intent to leave with him.

“Zelda, what if…” As always, he struggled to find the words he meant to speak. “You can’t leave--”

“Yes, I can.” The slightest smirk graced her lips as she ascended the stairs rather ungracefully; Link walked behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. “If anyone asks, there was a threat to my safety and I needed to vacate the premises _immediately_. Do you understand?”

Finally at the top of the stairs, Zelda turned to face Link, finger over her lips and head slightly bowed. The juxtaposition of seriousness and naiveté in her glance made Link’s heart skip a full beat; he felt as though her childish smile and innocent eyes had been embedded in his mind for years. He noticed now that her cheeks were flushed from prior drinking.

He nodded and, after a moment of hesitation, repeated the gesture. When Zelda gave the softest giggle in response, he pretended that his cheeks didn’t light up in absolute awe.

“I want to change my outfit before we go, because this gown is quite an inconvenience,” the queen explained as she led Link up the stairs to her chamber. She was quite chatty when she was alone, a stretch from her normal taciturn demeanor. Link yearned to be lively as she and simply listened, as he always did with words caught somewhere between his mind and his mouth.

“However, Link, I need you to undo my dress.” Zelda motioned to the ribbon laced up her back and Link nodded softly, shoving unsavory thoughts and his tightening stomach to the back of his mind (perhaps he just missed undoing Ilia’s clothing, because he _knew_ what followed then and had to convince himself that it wouldn’t follow now). He quickly untied the ribbon -- the intricate lacing was much more complicated than the fishing or quick release knots to which he was accustomed -- and patted her on the shoulder to tell her he’d finished.

Zelda opened the door of her bedroom and, instead of retreating to finish undressing, shimmied the dress off of her arms. Upon revealing her pale shoulders, she motioned to the small of her back.

“Undo my corset, too, please. I think they laced it down.”

Link froze. Her request, though spoken casually and even politely, was uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons: he wouldn’t undress someone he knew any less than intimately, and the fact that Zelda was indeed the Queen of Hyrule made the situation all the worse. Considering their closeness, the fact that his fingers would definitely brush her skin if he dared oblige, Link shuddered, overwrought with nausea and shame.

(A ridiculous, desperate part of his soul yearned for that closeness, and he took a cautious step away from the queen.)

“Link,” she said, turning her head to catch his attention and blinking innocuously. “I need you to undo my corset, please.”

And she, too, stepped back, closing the safe gap Link had purposely put between them. Though he absolutely did not want to untie her corset (especially if she undressed further afterwards), he simply couldn’t say no. With shaking hands, he began unlacing her corset, and he noted that her back was quite warm from her thick dress.

He ignored thoughts of her soft touch, damp skin, and heavy breathing and gave her the slightest nudge towards her bedroom. She thankfully stepped inside and closed the door behind her, and once he couldn’t see her, he turned and placed his forehead against the cold stone wall.

Once she had finished redressing and emerged from her chamber (her dress now was simpler. reminiscent of the standard attire of Castle Town women), she told Link about the many ways of leaving the castle that were not the front entrance. Link disregarded her advice, not trusting the inebriated queen to not lead him through a window or into the sewers, and quickly escorted her through the streets of Castle Town, empty during this hour.

Though the rest of the Castle Town was silent in slumber, Link could hear conversation spilling from the cracked-open door of Telma’s Bar. He pulled open the door for Zelda, who nodded softly and stepped inside. The familiar voices of Resistance members sounded, and Link could see the familiar (and gut-wrenching) sight of the group in the back room, unaware of the new guests.

Ashei’s voice came first, as gruff and blunt as Link remembered. “We already know that it’s a dated tradition anyway. They’ve all been completely terrible since…”

“Teodor, I know.” Then came Auru’s grousing. “Did you notice they didn’t even use real fairy tears? And her council is supposed to consist of the wisest men in the land. How embarrass—”

“The wisest men in King Kilian’s court, mind you,” Shad reasoned softly. “Zelda has yet to pick her council, and I’m sure she’s going to make a good decision. Bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom means a lot.”

Telma scoffed in response. “Call her what you want, some people will never be happy with anything she does. Poor thing doesn’t deserve criticism for her ancestors’ mistakes.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

Zelda’s declaration silenced the group, who gaped from her to Link (who shifted nervously at her boldness) in disbelief. She smiled sweetly, pushed a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear, and spoke a breathless greeting. Link prepared to apologize, for what he didn’t know. For intruding upon their conversation, for entering the bar so late without knocking first, for contributing to the ruination of the coronation.

Telma was the first to break the silence, stepping towards Link and enveloping him in her arms. Despite being quite familiar with her, he fidgeted in her embrace, to which she merely laughed.

“Why haven’t you been writing me, hm?” she teased, patting him on the shoulder lovingly. He said nothing in response, only smiling and shaking his head, and she turned her head to Zelda. “And you brought a guest, too.” Telma extended her hand for an amicable handshake, which the queen gladly reciprocated. “It’s a pleasure, Your _Majesty_.”

Link didn’t much enjoy the amount of weight that Telma placed on Zelda’s title, but Zelda didn’t seem to notice. She waltzed past Telma and hugged Auru tightly; the man was obviously uncomfortable with the gesture, face contorting with confusion. While she greeted him with the phrase “Master Auru” and lamented on how long it had been since she had seen him, Link turned to Telma and tittered softly.

“D’you think you could get us a couple of drinks?” he asked, pulling out his wallet and searching for a couple red rupees. “Your strongest ale, preferably.”

“Are you sure she needs it?” she asked, eyeing the queen with a mix of amusement and matronly disapproval. “She looks like she’s been drinking--”

“All evening, yeah.” He shifted his weight and shrugged. “It’s ‘cause she has been.” Link heard her mention that she was hungry and pulled out his wallet once again. “Can I get her something light to eat, too? I don’t think she’s eaten all day.”

Link didn’t dare acknowledge the star that passed through Telma’s eye and tried to ignore her subsequent mutterings of a “romantic gentleman”. Showing compassion wasn't indicative of romantic attraction, he believed, and he was slightly perturbed that she would believe that.

However, as he lowered himself into a chair and watched Zelda share banter with Ashei, Link considered what he would do if she actually _were_ romantically attracted to him. He wondered what it’d be like to hold her hand or wake up beside her, and butterflies filled his stomach. The image wasn’t bad by any means.

But, as she took a seat to his left and thanked him for buying her food, he decided that he didn’t want to date her. She could never be his: not because she was royalty, but because Link’s calling was elsewhere, whether he liked it or not.

“Hey, Link?” Zelda nudged Link with her elbow and smiled softly. “This is a good drink.”

Link considered agreeing or even noting that Telma was the person to thank. None of those words made it to his lips when he spoke.

“D’you think you can handle it?” he teased, taking a sip of his own drink and trying to act like he didn’t want to kick himself over that comment.

Zelda nodded. “I’ve had wine with dinner since I was thirteen. I can handle this.”

An hour later, Zelda had folded her arms on the table and had fallen asleep the moment she laid down her head. Ashei, Shad, and Auru had all excused themselves for the evening, leaving Telma and Link to one another.

“So, Link,” Telma started as she collected Link and Zelda’s empty glasses, “I heard you and Ilia aren’t together anymore.”

Link passed Telma the empty plate and sputtered quietly. “Th… that happened _yesterday_.”

Telma shrugged. “Word travels fast. We have a good postman.” When she nodded towards the queen, who slept soundly and with a stillness Link hadn’t felt in months, he knew what followed. “She also told me that you said--”

“I… I know what I said, but I didn’t mean it! It just… came out, I don’t know.” He truly hadn’t mean to speak the queen’s name, but her image had haunted his mind ever since she invited him to the coronation. Everything about her had been foreign, and everything about her had been beautiful.

He threw his head into his hands and groaned. He despised himself for thinking so trivially of the queen -- no. He despised himself for thinking so trivially of _Zelda_. Zelda had more dimensions than the figurehead that the kingdom wanted to reduce her to. She was more than her beauty and more than her ancestors’ mistakes. She was more than Hyrule’s bloody, disgusting, unforgivable history.

She was _Zelda_ , and Link would rather suffer at the hands of fate than dare disrespect her, or her wisdom, or her compassion, or her sacrifice.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Ilia, either,” he sighed, voice quivering as the ache in his chest grew, “but I don’t think I ever loved her like that, Telma, and I… I don’t wanna…”

Link looked at Telma, unfazed by the tears welling in his eyes, and shook his head slowly. The woman rubbed circles on his back and sighed.

“You’re so deep in love,” she teased, and Link shook his head viciously.

“I… I’ll n-never fall in love, Tel-Telma,” he admitted, fighting back the shyness he wished to embraced. He swallowed hard; he didn’t want to speak but couldn’t hide behind silence forever. “I _can’t_ , Telma.”

With that, Zelda stirred and looked up at Link with a blank stare. He made no attempt to wipe his eyes, far beyond feeling shame for exhibiting emotions.

She spoke slowly, as though she was unsure of the words she spoke. “I’ll never marry either. I just want to go home.”

Link heard her words and nodded briskly, handing Telma a few more rupees (he hadn’t counted how much, but he was sure he could never pay her all that she deserved) before helping her from her chair. When she collapsed into him, he pretended as though practically carrying her back to the castle wasn’t an issue. _Just like the Knights of Hyrule would_ , he told himself, remembering the role he had failed to portray earlier in the day.

Link delivered Zelda to her chamber and tried to hide his shame as Lady Aren chided them both for being reckless and, in her words, completely immature. He made no attempt to wish Zelda a good night, unable to speak once more (strangers such as Lady Aren always had that effect on him).

As he closed the door behind him, he tried to ignore it when Zelda weakly whined for him to stay.


End file.
